


We're Not Afraid (Book Version)

by Harley_Quinn13



Series: We're Not Afraid [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1950s, Adult Losers Club (IT), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Horror, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Lost Memories, Major Character Injury, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Plants, Psychological Horror, Sewers, Tentacles, The orgy is in this..., Venus Flytraps, Vines, Werewolf, only referenced though, the mummy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harley_Quinn13/pseuds/Harley_Quinn13
Summary: *This story is mainly based off of the book but this is only 1 of 3 versions*The Losers, and others, are being called back to Derry. A friend of theirs, Bernadette, is awoken in the middle of the night by nightmares and memories of her childhood only to see a dark figure in the corner of her room muttering 'Derry.' Will she go back and attempt to help The Losers Club, or will she die trying?





	1. She Sees The Ghost

_It was the summer of ’58._

 

  A dark figure stood in the corner of her room, watching as she slept. She awoke with a jolt, breathing heavily as she remembered her childhood. It came back to her so quickly it made her dizzy and nauseous, which only got worse when she realized who was standing in the corner of her bedroom.

  The room was quiet and dark, with only a sliver of moonlight slipping between her purple drapes. A blue hue painted the floor where the moonlight hit, which drew her focus away from the horrifying image before her.

  She never thought she would see him again, standing there, alive. Worst of all, she was alone. No one would be able to hear her scream. The ones (or, perhaps, one) who she cared about wouldn’t realize she was gone. As a matter of fact, they seemed to have completely forgot about her after that summer.

  The figure stepped into the light. Half of their gruesome, twisted, rotting face was visible to her. It was indeed him, one of the ghosts of her past. A man who she could never love; her abuser. Now that she was older, she realized that she feared him -and people like him- more than those strange, meat-eating plants she read about in the fifth grade. He left a mental scar too deep to be covered up by the haze that flooded her mind after she moved away from her hometown.

  The corpse of Patrick Hockstetter was standing in her room.

 

  _It was the summer of ’58._

  The bell rung and echoed throughout the school as children rushed out of the classroom doors and flooded into the hallway. Each and every child was ready for summer, where they wouldn’t have to worry about pop-quizzes or homework or science projects. They could run around and be free for three months. Perhaps they would go to the pool, or ride around town on their bikes, maybe even go to the movies.

  Bernadette, however, had other plans. She was going to meet up with Ben in the library every week and just read. Read and forget the awful world around her. Just a couple weeks before, her best friend Heather Grace went missing, along with other kids, but this one hit her hard. She found herself wondering why kids -good kids- like Heather went missing but kids like Patrick remained to make her life miserable.

  Ben was one of her only remaining friends. They met in the library. Ben was hiding from Henry Bowers, and Bernadette was avoiding Patrick. The two began to talk more often, bonding over mostly books and finding solace in their mostly quiet nature. Ben, while addressed by others as merely “the new kid,” was called by his real name when he was around Bernadette.

  Ben was a short, round boy with brown hair and a round face. He wore sweatshirts everyday as a way to conceal his body, which was always what he was tormented for by Bowers and his goons.

  The first thing he noticed about Bernadette was how she dressed. She dressed femininely, however, she didn’t wear bright colors like other girls her age. Her blonde, curly hair was cut mid-neck and she had bangs that were swept to the side. She was a bit chubbier than the rest of the girls, with bigger thighs and upper arms, but she wasn’t quite as big as Ben or even Patrick. She often would have a solemn look on her face when she would meet up with Ben, sometimes it was accompanied by a few bruises on her forearms, or a large red mark on her cheek. Ben never asked about these injuries.

  Ben walked through the glass walkway that led to the children’s library before seating himself in the back. As he waited, his mind drifted to Beverly Marsh. He then caught sight of the postcards and mailbox.

  Bernadette was running late, as she normally would, but that particular day she was running later than usual. First, she decided to take a back way, one that would help her avoid unwanted attention from others, then, she saw someone. She got so caught up in talking with them that she completely forgot about Ben. But of course, when you’re talking with the Trashmouth himself, conversations tend to go on forever. By the time Bernadette got there, Ben was already on his way out.

  “Ben I’m so sorry, I tried to get here on time but I took the back way and then I saw Richie and I-”

  “It’s okay Bernie. I understand.” Ben told her, calling her by her nickname. She smiled at this.

  “Thanks, Ben.” She said. The clock chimed loudly, it was four now, and Bernadette had to go home.

  “I’ll see you next week.” She says meekly before disappearing. Ben waved before going on his own way.

 

_The corpse of Patrick Hockstetter was standing in her room._

  His torn and decomposing lips turned upward and parted to reveal the remainder of his teeth which had turned a sickly brownish yellow color. His eyes were as cold and blank as Bernadette had remembered them.

  “ _Derry._ ” He croaked as he began to approach the bed. Bernie began to shrink away from the zombie before her.

  “ _Derry’s waiting for you Bernie_.” His steps were clunky and loud; his knees didn’t bend as he moved his leg forward, it was as if the joints had stiffened. It was as if his corpse were truly brought back to life.

  “ _I’m waiting for you; all you have to do is go back to Derry. All of your friends are there! Ben, Beverly… what about Tozier? Don’t you miss the Trashmouth? Well he’s in Derry. He’s in the sewers with the rest of your friends._ ” As Patrick went on his voice began to change, losing the rough, croak-like voice and eventually sounding more and more clown-like. Bernadette shook her head, refusing to believe what she was hearing. Her heart ached at the mention of Richie.

  “ _Come on Bernapet. Don’t you miss that foureyed faggot?_ ” His voice changed again, this time to Patrick’s voice, his real one. He sounded exactly the same as he did twenty-something years before. Fear from hearing that dreaded nickname from her past again was quickly replaced with anger.

  “Don’t call him that!” She shouted, seemingly not remembering that this was not real.

  “ _You do want to see him again, don’t you? You still care about him, even after all these years. After he forgot about you and left you all alone with memories of what’s under Derry._ ” He continued to taunt. Bernadette didn’t notice the vine that had dropped from seemingly nowhere. It slithered slowly towards her bed, leading the other two that had dropped to the floor as well.

  Bernadette felt a sadness that she had buried with her memories of Derry rise up again. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she remembered how Richie had ignored her after they had defeated It. She still couldn’t quite figure out how she knew they had defeated It, but she knew at the time, and she was overjoyed… but none of them talked to her after that.

  “ _After he fucked the red headed slut in the sewers-_ ”

  “He didn’t. And Beverly isn’t a slut.” She replied calmly. A tear trailed down her cheek, glistening in the pale moonlight.

  “ _Then why are you crying?_ ” The vines were now slipping underneath her satin sheets. She opened her mouth to say something, but the corpse cut her off.

  “ _You aren’t stupid Bernadette, you had to have known._ ” She closed her mouth after this and thought about what he had said. Sadly, she knew he was right. However, he was stalling, letting her ponder his words and keep her thinking long enough to make sure the vines could get close enough without her noticing.

  Next thing she knew, the vines had wrapped tightly around her ankles and pulled her towards the edge of the bed. She screamed and flipped over, attempting to grip onto anything she could get her hands on. Her hands gripped and clawed at the bed and her blankets as she tried to pull herself up, but the strength of the vines outmatched her severely.

  Patrick still stood there, slouched and grinning wildly.

  “ _See you soon, Bernapet._ ” His voice echoed and faded in a ghostly way. Bernadette was pulled to the floor with a _THUMP!_ She quickly flipped over to where she was sitting up so she could see just where she was being pulled to. Or who. Patrick was now gone, however the vines remained and tugged her towards the doorway. She kicked violently, causing the vines to contract around her ankles. She cried out in pain. They continued to drag her into the dark doorway. Before she was dragged out of the room, she grabbed ahold of the doorframe and gripped onto it with both hands, using all of her strength to attempt to pull herself away from the source of the vines.

  There was a great tug at her waist, and before she knew it, she was being dragged away from the doorframe and tugged farther away from the comfort of her own bed. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. The newer vine that had situated itself on her waist began to tighten, to the point where it was unbearable. More vines shot out from within the darkness to bind her hands.

  Fear coursed through her veins. She knew that she shouldn’t have been scared, but this was one of the worst situations she had been in in the past twenty years or so. A vine slinked up her leg slowly, causing her to become even more alarmed. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? Being an adult meant having adult fears, and this was definitely one of them.

  “Help! Someone please!” She cried. She began to sob and kick and scream. The feeling of helplessness returned to her and crashed into her like a car hitting a wall. Her voice became hoarse from screaming, her muscles became tired from kicking and struggling, and just as she began to give up, the vines disappeared; leaving Bernadette a sobbing, shivering mess on her living room floor.


	2. Chapter 2

  It was three in the morning when the phone on Richard Tozier’s nightstand rang. His hand reached for the phone, missing a few times before finally finding it and bringing it to his ear.

  His head was pounding. The effects of a hangover were already descending on him. His eyes opened slowly as he tried to figure out why the hell someone would call him at this hour, even if he couldn’t read the clock at the time.

  “Hello?” There was a sniffle from the other end. His eyebrows furrowed out of confusion.

  “Richie? Is it really you?” The voice asked. It was the small, meek voice of a woman. A woman who sounded frightened.

  “Who is this?” He asked. The voice felt extremely familiar to him, it was almost comforting.

  “Richie, it’s me. It’s Bernie.” The voice answered in a shaky, sullen voice. It was all so sudden; memories of a girl flooded his mind in an instant. Her golden curls. Her pale pink lips that were almost always curved upwards in a smile. Her ghostly white skin as she laid on the cold sewer floors with a snapped neck and bleeding head.

  Richie sat up and held the phone as close to him as he could. He couldn’t remember much about her, or why she and him were in the sewers, but he remembered that she had died. That’s why he didn’t see her in middle school, nor did he remember seeing her in high school. That’s why he didn’t ask her to prom, that’s why he didn’t take her with him to Beverly Hills. She died and that was the end of it.

  “Bernie, huh? How did you get this number?” Bernadette couldn’t answer that. She just knew what it was, she didn’t have to look it up or ask around, there was a voice within her that told her his number. His question brought tears to her eyes. It sounded like he didn’t remember her.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that I need your help. I need all of you guys, something’s happened.” She begged.

  “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.” He told her. She began to cry again.

  “Please Richie.”

  Richie was moving toward his nightstand before being cut off by this phrase. He began to remember something. A memory.

 

_“Please Richie.”_

  Richie smiled.

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” He asked. She shrugged and walked alongside him.

  “I want to go with you!” She explained. Richie was heading toward the Barrens, where the rest of his friends were waiting for him. Of course, Bernadette was never really in this group of friends, despite already being friends with two (excluding himself) members of the Loser’s Club.

  “I don’t know; I don’t think you can handle it.” He joked. Bernadette rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

  “I already hang out with Ben and Beverly, I don’t see why it would be such a big deal for me to tag along this time. And no one complains when Beverly brings me.” Richie continued to walk forward, leaving Bernadette a few steps behind him.

  “That’s because you’re both girls.”

  “And? What difference does it make…” Bernie trailed off.

  “Wait.” Richie stopped and looked back at her, hoping she didn’t realize why he couldn’t bring her along. In reality, the reason why she couldn’t come along was a double-edged sword. Not only was it because the rest of the Losers knew that he liked her, but it was also because of their hunt for It. Richie really didn’t want to put her in danger, neither did Ben or Beverly, so they tried their best to keep her away from what they were doing.

  “Do they make fun of you for hanging out with me?” She asked. Richie looked down, not answering.

  “Wow. I didn’t have to tell you to shut up this time.” She merely states before turning on her heal and rushing away, wiping her tears in the process. Richie stood there and watched her walk away, convincing himself that he did the right thing. Little did he know; this was going to be the last time he talked to Bernadette.

 

  “ _Please Richie._ ”

 

  The Bernadette on the other side of the phone was sobbing now and trying everything in her power to get Richie to remember her.

  “I’m so sorry.” He muttered before hanging up the phone. Bernie heard the audible click from the other side and then the haunting ringing sound that came when the other line hangs up. She held the phone close to her and slid down the wall in her kitchen, holding back frightened tears.

   This phone call, however, was the beginning of a series of phone calls, all delivered on the same day: May 28th 1985.

 

2

 

    Bernadette, while nervous about the path she began to take, decided to go back to Derry. It was her only choice at this point. By her logic, her friends had to have been summoned back there as well. Of course, she was only going off of assumptions, which meant that going back would have been rather dangerous. After she called Richie, she called an airline.

    Getting the tickets was no problem for her, she’d fly Delta, a nonstop flight at 9 o’clock the next morning and get there around 10:30, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. Not after everything that had happened.

  She leaned on her black marble kitchen counter, scratching her left cheek erratically (a habit she picked up when she was younger). She felt unsafe, even in her own home. What she had to do was pack her things for her flight in the morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back into her bedroom.

  At the very end of the hallway, the door to her bedroom was shut. A droning and repetitive pounding sound could be heard from where Bernie was standing, and at that point she had to wonder whether all of this was in her head.

  But if it were in her head, how would she remember Derry? Why would she be thinking of Derry in the first place? She hadn’t thought of the town she grew up in in years, why would it be so important now, twenty something years later?

  She thought of what the zombified Patrick had said to her:

_“After he forgot about you and left you all alone with memories of what’s under Derry.”_

  Bernie could hardly remember Derry as it was, let alone what was _under_ it. But, like a word that is stuck on the tip of one’s tongue, she **could** remember it, just vaguely.

  The sewers were dark and tight in some places. There was a door that lead to a more open space. Then came feelings. She felt like she was being dragged, drowned. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

  **_BOOM_**

Bernadette immediately stood up straight, dropping her left hand from her cheek and staring directly into the hallway, staring wide-eyed at her door. Her breathing had become ragged, but it wasn’t because of the loud sound that came from her room.

  Slowly, she began to make her way to her door. The wooden floorboards creaked and squished with every step she took, yet she paid no mind to the sounds. All she wanted to do was go back into her room to get her things and leave. Her hand shakily reached out for the brass doorknob, and without thinking, she turned the knob and swung the door open.

  Her room was empty, but not the same as it was when she was dragged out of her bed. The curtains were drawn, letting in the blueish glow of dawn, and her bed was made. As she entered her room, the chest at the end of her bed slowly opened. A single, red balloon rose from within and managed to completely demolish any sliver of confidence Bernadette had left.

  Shortly after the balloon had risen, the floors began to bubble and gurgle as blood began to seep from between the floors, soaking Bernie’s feet and filling the air with a copper-like scent. In a split second, Bernadette found herself backing away, gaining momentum as the blood began to fill her room. She decided that she wasn’t going to wait until the next morning. She was leaving immediately.

 

 


End file.
